Ging and Gonic
by Ongaku no Usagi
Summary: On the bridge between childhood and adulthood, Gon makes his choice.


Ging and Gonic

A Hunter X Hunter fanfic

_by Ongaku no Usagi_

Disclaimer: I do not own "Hunter X Hunter". If I did, it wouldn't be on hiatus all the time. That's Togashi-san's fault.

Ah, now I've really crossed the line of obsession. Seriously, Gon, when did you go this far, huh? The Hunter test, well, that wasn't such a crazy thing, after all, it was a lot of fun, and I made a lot of friends! Greed Island was a little more weird, but I had Killua with me the entire time! Dad would really like Killua, I think. But that last little twist...argh! C'mon, Dad, that's just not fair! I got so close, and then...!

Okay, I'll admit that when I started dreaming about finding Dad, it got a little weirder. Sometimes it was a joyful reunion; slow motion against a sunset background and swelling music, while father and son approach each other with arms wide open and sparkling tears welling up (darn you, Killua; your selection of movies is really crappy, and now it's invading my dreams, too!). Other times it was a little more murderous, dark background and bare tree leaves, the sort of feeling that would be named "Hisoka" if feelings were named. In those, I was enraged, jumping forward with both fists flailing, pounding him with every ounce of force I had, ripping out his hair, breaking his bones, yelling, screaming...(Killua, your other favorite genre is just as bad as your first. One of these days I need to listen to that nagging voice in my head that says, "Don't go to the movies with him! No matter what you do! It will not turn out well!"...but I never do. He is my best friend, after all).

But this really crosses the line. I'm hallucinating. I must be. Killua, when are you to pinch me and bring me back to reality when I need you, huh? Geez...of all the days to go girl-chasing...I hate being nineteen and "cute". Rabid fan girls...half of whom have hit the "vampire rage" going around and flaunting GothLoli ruffled skirts of maroon and black, and long cloaks draping after them on the ground, trying to get me under their frilly umbrellas. Gah! Get me out of there! ...Anyway, completely off topic. When Killua's not here to reprimand me for that, I get that way.

Killua...he's great. Yeah. It took me a while to figure it out, but here is what I have come up with: We are best friends, and also each other's mother, nagging older sister, obnoxious younger brother, and personal tormentor and shoulder angel/devil. It's kinda fun, no? But...then the girl "ness" hit! And unlike me, Killua is perfectly willing to flirt, with winks and rakish smiles, and let me tell you, he's the reason why we get this odd blend of the shy, doe-eyed type and the would-sprout-fangs-if-able-to type. Suddenly, he's trying to drag me into all this stuff, dates and kissing and...ew...Ewewewew!

But there's one thing we can't be for each other. We can goof around, we can nag each other, we can fight and have eating contests galore, but we can't be each other's father. No; that is impossible. Because his idea of a father, a divine being to be respected and feared, is so different from mine, which is basically nothing more than the idea of a negative which, exposed to sunlight before being developed, seeps out in blankness, despite striving to peer at the image within, there it is, there it isn't, blotting out its own existence.

And yet, not merely the negative, but the image itself, the unreachable image, the everlastingly vain goal, sits there, nonchalantly, all by himself, shrouded in a worn traveler's cloak as deep as the shadows seeping into that corner of the bar.

What am I doing in a bar? I really don't know, actually. Before Killua tripped after the red-curl-sporting ingenue of the dashing glances, he shoved me in this direction, so in I went. And here I am. And here he is.

And for once in my life, I can't think straight enough to walk forward.  
It wasn't until now that I realized how badly, once face to face with that man, I wanted to turn tail and run in the other direction. Just...run. Don't stop. Run. Continue running, until I was out of sight and had given him time to escape.

Why?

He is a goal.

He is a dare and a challenge.

What do I do once I accomplish that goal? What's left afterwards? What to do, but to say, "Oopsie, my bad," and count to ten to let him go hide again?

No, Gon. You are not a child anymore. You are nineteen. Step forward; cross the gritty floor, descend into the smoke of manhood, the smell of grown-up conversation starters. Sit down on the chipped, rotating stool at the bar. Look up, order a drink. A grown-up drink, one that Killua recommended.

Now look over.

He's still there. Does he see me? Is that sly grin for me? Is that spiky hair really the same as I remember it from photos?

No...no, it is my own reflection. That is my hair. Those eyes are so like mine. Even the hand that reaches out to grab the drink I ordered from the bar-tender to set it in front of myself, too dumbfounded to grab it myself, it is my width, the fingers are the length of mine, even the creases on the individual knuckles...I can count them on my own.

There is no doubt. This is Dad.

"Hi, Ging."

"Hi, Gon."

What to say? What can one say, looking at yourself in twenty years, an image you've never seen before, a ghost suddenly corporeal?

"What's up?"

"Hm, not much. You know. You've heard about me, right, just like I've heard about you?"  
My mouth drops open in a mixture of surprise and horror. Dad has heard about me? About me, little Gon, the trouble-maker, the good boy, Mito-san's treasure and terror?

"You've been busy."

"Yeah."

"Good for you, son."

"Thanks."

He gestures toward the glittering drink on the counter. "Aren't you going to have a drink?"

Uh oh.

He winks at me. "Never had a drink before, have you?"

I shrug a little. "Never really had the chance to, before." Uso. Killua's tried to make me drink along with him more times than I can count. But that drink, mixture of mystery and manhood...I'm not ready to drink it yet. Not ready to cross the threshold into twenty.  
But I did, didn't I? Even by entering this dingy place, walking by dirty, ring-crusty tables, and sitting down next to _him_...I've already made my choice.

And it is my birthday, proper, in two hours. The years march into twenty, ready or not.

The threshold is there, Gon. What do you do with it?

I grip the low-balled glass with hands that would break it if I applied even the slightest force. Clink, clink, the ice cubes tap impatiently against the glass while the whitish-clear liquid swirls with oily images on the surface. There is no need to lift it to my nose, for my keen olefactory sense catches the slightly metallic smell of distilled juniper berries.

Yuk. Who would drink this stuff?

But Ging is there, grinning under the dim, rusty red lights; his eyes are daring me, just like the sound of his voice on a tape, what, eight years ago already?

I will take that dare, Ging.

I lift the glass to my lips, the liquid lingering enticingly before sliding smoothly down the glass into my mouth. In my surprise at the taste, I lift the bottom of the glass too high, and liquid, ice, everything, goes PLUNK into my mouth, against my teeth, and what I haven't automatically spat out dribbles from the corners of my mouth onto my shirt.

Gasping, choking; the taste is horrible, so bitter, like a knife dipping into my throat, and yet it burns, it burns! And Ging is there, isn't he; watching, with that low-light smirk, and what else I don't want to know yet. To put off meeting his gaze, I wipe the corners of my watering eyes with the back of my hand and concentrate on swallowing the bad taste down.

"What...the F***...was THAT?"

Chuckle. "And here I thought that leaving you in Mito's care was going to shelter you from such phrases. Ah, well. Being a Hunter is a bit like being a sailor, I guess. You learn things you don't want to, and then you're stuck with that and it won't leave you, no matter how hard you try."

I cock a black, arched eyebrow at him, meeting his gaze with my own. Did the pictures ever show how identical our eyes are? "Who the hell would drink such stuff...on purpose?" I growl, a little surlily, I will admit.

He shrugs, and through the nonchalantness I catch an ever-so-slight hint of insecurity. Is it me? Is it the natural feeling of constant danger that every Hunter that lives any length of time acquires eventually? Damn you, Ging, you're so hard to read!

"There is no single reason to drink, Gon," he tells me, quietly, considering the new drink the barmaid has put in front of him as though it's more important than the son he hasn't seen for almost nineteen years who is sitting on the stool next to him. He dips his finger into it and puts the tip to his lips experimentally, then shakes his head and sets the glass back down, still not passing a glance in my direction. "We begin because of other's opinions; we press on because we are curious; and then we land wherever we fall there. I shouldn't say this, I guess; a fatherly sort of thing seems kind of out of character, but don't visit this sort of place too often, Gon. It grows on you. Soon the bartender is your brother, and every man who sits next to you is your best friend. Don't give in to that sort of thing. There's more sickness in this room than you can find in all the world. Mind you," he finally looks my direction and gives me a wink, "it's not that it's a crime to visit here every once in awhile. Sometimes one just needs to unwind."

"Is that why you're here?" Something about his bar speech lends itself to another's experience, and not his own. Ging has seen more than the inside of such a place. You just have to look into his eyes-so similar to mine-to know that.

"Mm hm," he grunts absentmindedly, biting the inside of his lip and then raising the glass to his mouth to take a careful sip. He clears his throat after swallowing jaggedly, and shakes his head ever so slightly. Then he turns completely and gives me a wide smile. "You can learn a lot through just about any experience, Gon. Just try not to have the same experiences over and over again. People aren't meant to be shut up in offices, behind remorseless desks, pounding out the same figures day after day. You can't learn that way."

"Don't you ever run out of adventures?" I find myself asking. I don't know why, but lately it's felt that way for me. This, that, the same thing. Every enemy looks the same; treasures are like pebbles on the road.

He shakes his head gently. "No. An adventure is what you make it out to be. You can't run out of them. Find the nuances, find the things that make what you do interesting. You can't fail to have fun if you do so.

"Well, I'm all out of speeches. Hey, Gon, try another drink. Something a little sweeter...mm...a Midori Sour, perhaps?"

Somewhere between that first sip of the light, sweet green stuff, and the blurring conversation afterwards, it occurs to me that perhaps I'm not as alcohol tolerant as Killua seems to be, downing Smirnoffs like water, and still on his feet for a witty comment or a wink in a random girl's direction.

Where did the evening go? Hello, morning. Why wake me up already? I guess I'm twenty, now. God, my head hurts. Eto...let's see, what was I doing? Killua pushed me in here, and then it was all dark-like and smelled like smoke, and...

Ging!

Where's Ging?

Not here; nobody's here. I guess they let me sleep in peace, eh? Gotta thank them for that... but Killua's going to be up in my hair about where I've been tonight...wait, Ging! Where are you?

As I rest my hand on the counter to push up off the stool, the dry crinkle of paper sounds in my ears. I pause. Is this all you left me, Ging? What about adventures together? I find you, and then you get me drunk and leave? How is that even supposed to be a father-son problem?

I turn the note over and squint through the pain that the early sunbeams are playing along the insides of my eyes.

Gon,

Now remember this: Menchi-chan aside, a good Hunter never gets drunk.

See you on the other side of the world.

-G

**Author's Notes:** Konnichiwa, minna-san! This is my response to all the Kurapika stuff that's been going around. Gon-kun really does deserve a little more attention, as does Ging-san. It's not very good, but there you have it...Arigatou gozaimasu!


End file.
